


Call It Education

by Woldy



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Education, F/F, Older Characters, Older Woman, POV Female Character, Rare Pairing, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woldy/pseuds/Woldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minerva waited all year for the night after the end of exams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call It Education

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the International Day of Femslash challenge at [hp_femsmut](http://community.livejournal.com/hp_femsmut) using the prompt 'NEWTS'. This fic is not betaed &amp; I apologise for any mistakes.

Minerva suspected she was the only person at Hogwarts who looked forward to exam season. The students dreaded it, the teachers grumbled about the marking, Madam Pince protested all the overdue library books, and Filch resented every second of the celebrations afterwards. Despite almost fifty years of teaching, Minerva got a thrill of anticipation every time she met the examiners at the school gates.  
The exams themselves were an experience to be survived, not savoured. Every year there was a new crop of OWL and NEWT students to coax through the Transfigurations test, to soothe when they panicked, and encourage when they despaired. There was always someone who took advantage of the credulous by selling disgusting substances as brain stimulants. Occasionally a student was caught with Felix Felicis, and a sternly-worded Owl was dispatched to their parents. Something always went wrong, whether it was a fight with the Aurors in the midst of the Astronomy exam, or a basilisk, or the products of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes being used in new and devastating combinations.

Yet, after the final exam came the best night of the year. This was what Minerva looked forward as she waded through piles of essays, or transfigured scores of misshapen needles back into matchsticks.

Minerva glanced at the clock in her office: nearly ten o clock. Not much longer to wait.

There were two crystal glasses on the table beside Minerva's armchair. She lifted one and took a sip of scotch.

The minute hand ticked into the vertical position and, with characteristically impeccable timing, there was a rap on the door.

"Alohomora."

The door swung open to reveal a petite, white-haired figure in severe black robes. Griselda's face was deeply lined and her back a little stooped, but her eyes were sharp as ever.

"Good evening," Griselda said, walking briskly inside.

The door swung shut and a locking charm clicked into place, without a word or gesture on Griselda's part. Minerva reflected that it was a shame the students never got to see their examiner's exemplary command of nonverbal magic.

"Do I smell Talisker?"

"Accurate as ever," Minerva said, passing her the untouched glass.

Griselda sat down, leaning back into the cushions of the armchair, and took a sip. It was a long moment before she spoke, but her eyes never left Minerva's face.

This had been an annual event for so long that the years blurred together in her memory. Minerva couldn't remember when they used the candles, layering each other's skin with hot wax, or which year Griselda conjured the red silk ropes. Once they spent the night in the Teacher's Bathroom, taking full advantage of the water jets and scented foam, but usually they met in Minerva's office.

A year was a long time to wait, but Minerva had no desire to see the legitimacy of her students' results disputed in the The Daily Prophet. The Ministry would never condone the head of Gryffindor and Transfigurations teacher openly bedding the Governor of the examinations authority, so the appearance - if not the actuality - of propriety must be maintained.

"I've got news about the Ministry's plans for the Muggle Studies syllabus, but it can wait," said Griselda, lowering the glass, and Minerva smiled. You didn't get to be head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority and member of the Wizengamot without learning to be direct.

"We'll talk over breakfast," Minerva agreed, laying a hand on Griselda's thigh and running it down Griselda's leg until her fingers met leather.

Removing clothing by magic was easy, but easy solutions often weren't the most satisfying. Minerva slid from her chair, kneeling in front of Griselda, and reached for the laces of her boot.

She slid off the boot, revealing Griselda's stockinged foot, and felt Griselda shiver as Minerva's fingers traced the shape of the arch. When she looked up, Griselda's lips were parted and her gaze was fixed on Minerva.

Minerva slid off the other boot, feeling warm, roughened skin beneath the silky fabric. Stockings might be old-fashioned, but Minerva was old-fashioned enough herself to find them sexy. In some ways, they were well-matched.

She placed Griselda's foot on the ground, and Griselda obliging widened her legs for Minerva to kneel between them. The hem of Griselda's robe rose as she moved, and Minerva pushed it still higher, pooling the fabric around her waist.

Minerva took a moment to savour the sight: black stockings from toe to shapely thighs, and the almost-shocking line of pale flesh at the top. Then she leaned down to press a kiss inside of Griselda's knee, then another, moving upwards in tiny increments.

"You're a tease," Griselda said, fondness warring with disapproval in her tone.

Minerva ignored her protest. After waiting a year for this, she was in no rush.

As Minerva's kisses travelled higher, Griselda's reactions changed: her cheeks flushed, her breath caught, her legs began to quiver. When Minerva reached the top of the stockings and kissed naked skin, Griselda gasped.

Minerva ran her hands over the bare skin of Griselda's thighs, and then reached up to where silky blue knickers were visible beneath her robes. There was a metaphor to be found if one looked - silk softened over time without losing its strength.

Minerva pushed the blue fabric aside with her hand, and pressed a kiss to the pink lips beneath. She could easily lose herself in the taste, the scent, the delicate, complex furls, and perhaps later there would be an opportunity for such self-indulgence. Now Griselda's body was taut with anticipation, her fingers digging into the arm of the chair. Minerva gave one slow, thorough lick, a movement not dissimilar to washing her fur - although she has no intention of ever admitting that fact - and tasted the musk on her tongue.

"Good," said Griselda, voice crisp as if she were examining a student, and Minerva felt a stir of annoyance.

If she was going to be examined - and surely the bedroom was the least suitable place for it - then Minerva was damned if she'd settle for anything less than Outstanding.

She leaned in closer, hands pressing Griselda's thighs apart, and licked again, finding a pattern. Minerva knew from experience what Griselda liked - gentle friction against her clitoris, a little suction, and the slow, rough swipe of Minerva's tongue. Now, Griselda's hand tangled in Minerva's hair, and strands fell loose around her face as Minerva buried herself between Griselda's thighs.

The grip on her hair tightened, the breathy moans quickened, and then Griselda's whole body seemed to shudder beneath her mouth. There was a moment of stillness, then a warm hand on Minerva's cheek guided her upright.

Griselda's face and neck were flushed, and her lips were very red. In this moment, there was no trace of the calm, objective Ministry examiner, and Minerva was glad of it.

"Let's move to the bed," Griselda suggested, and Minerva realised her knees were stiffening from kneeling on the carpet.

Her bedroom adjoined the office and the bed was only a few steps away, but it seemed ridiculous to climb onto it fully clothed. Griselda removed her robe, revealing a body that looked unchanged by the past year. Perhaps, Minerva thought, the elapse of one's 135th year made barely any difference at all.

Griselda's brassiere was the same royal blue as her knickers, and the colour clashed horribly with the red tartan of Minerva's bed hangings - as Griselda must have known it would.

"Always the Ravenclaw," Minerva remarked, stroking a finger over her breast through the silk.

"What else would you have me be?" said Griselda, raising an imperious eyebrow.

"Nothing but yourself."

Griselda slid her hands over Minerva's ribcage, arms wrapping around her waist, and Minerva was suddenly aware of the heat between her legs. Tomorrow she would need to deal with students and house loyalties, but tonight could be as simple as sensation and desire.

Minerva took the final step towards the bed, and Griselda followed, her body pressed close and her breath hot against Minerva's neck.

"What can I do for you?" Griselda asked, smile turning wicked as she added, "We've got all night."


End file.
